I watch the steam as it rises so full of promise
There is a night that lives inside
a perpetual darkness made of dead love
and forlorn forgotten and rotten ideas.
There is no steam there it is gone
changed into a new energy a lost wayward plea
or a hard cold surface, impenetrable.
He said: my soul is leaking
and I have no patches
I was supposed to make them,
but I never did.